


Auld Lang Syne

by theherocomplex



Series: Guitar and Video Games [3]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012)
Genre: Apritello, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Pre-Relationship, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 06:57:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1216849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theherocomplex/pseuds/theherocomplex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>April's not in denial about being in denial.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Auld Lang Syne

**Author's Note:**

> This is the next fic in my future-TMNT 'verse, post-"Suspended Animation". I'll be posting the fics in chronological order.

_New Year’s Eve, 8pm._

April is trapped between smiling and crying, the way she is every time she talks to her father. Tonight is a good night for him: he’s lucid, clear-spoken, even funny - and it had been  _years_  since she’d heard him tell a joke. His laugh sounds genuine.

"I’m doing fine, sweetie," he keeps saying. "Well, as fine as I can be. Can’t make any promises for the future, but I think I’ve turned the corner on this."

 _This_ being the whole kidnapped-by-aliens-brainwashed-by-aliens-forcibly-mutated thing that ate an entire year of their lives, and left Kirby a screaming, hollow mess. April bites down on the urge to say that she doesn’t think there’s a corner to be turned, just more false recoveries and more horrible relapses.

"I hope so," she says instead. "Donnie and the rest of the guys say hi, and Happy New Year. Splinter too." 

 

"Tell them I say Happy New Year right back. How is Donnie, by the way?"

Her father never asks about the other brothers. It’s not out of anger or fear, but simple loyalty: Donnie got Kirby out of the Kraang prison, Donnie created the retromutagen, and Donnie was there for April when Kirby couldn’t be. Kirby likes all the brothers, but he is in platonic nerd-love with Donnie.

April smiles. “He’s great. You should see what we’re working on - I sneak him up to the lab on weekends and we’ve been playing with the q-switched lasers. It’s amazing. I wish my lab group could just listen to him for five minutes, he’d blow them all away.”

"I’m sure they would be. He’s a remarkable young man." Kirby says that every time Donnie comes up in conversation, and April is yet to find a better description for Donnie.  _Remarkable_ , indeed.

"Well, now that everyone knows about the Kraang, maybe they will get to hear him, someday." Only Kirby knows about this secret wish: that the world knowing about aliens from other dimensions means that the brothers won’t be stuck in the dark for their entire lives. Only three years have gone by since the news hit, but there isn’t mass panic when a new Kraang mutant turns up, and even Fox News has stopped shrieking about it.

The day’s coming when she and Donnie won’t have to sneak into a lab, and the thought fills her with a fierce, protective pride. Soon, the world’s going to see him, and be amazed as she is.

"Anything else you want to tell me?" asks Kirby, in his new pointed way. "What else are you and Donnie working on?"

"The lasers are really it, but he’s got some ideas for my  _tessen_  that we’ll play with later,” she replies, bemused at her father’s tone, and blushing for no reason. “Mikey’s showing me how to use his nunchuks,” she adds, and Kirby sighs.

 _What the hell is that for?_  she wants to ask, but a nurse calls out in the background on Kirby’s end.

"Time to go. I’m sorry I can’t be there with you, April."

"It’s okay, Dad. I’ll see you on Tuesday. We’ll go to that brunch place you like."

"Excellent." She can hear her father’s smile over the phone. "Even better if you’re paying."

April bursts out laughing. “Yeah, make the poor grad student pay. Nice, Dad.”

"Happy New Year, April."

"Happy New Year to you, too. See you soon."

She hangs up slowly, blinking back a few traitor tears, and glances at the clock. “Shit,” she hisses. She and Casey are meeting up for a few beers before they head down to the lair, and if she doesn’t move, she’s going to be late.

***

Casey breaks into her apartment as she’s checking her makeup in the hall mirror. He gives her a long, thorough once-over, whistling as he does.

"Lookin’  _good_ , Red. Seriously hot stuff.”

April rolls her eyes, but can’t help a warm glow of pleasure at the flattery. That’s one of the best things about Casey: he wouldn’t say it if he didn’t mean it. But, because it’s Casey, she can’t just say “thank you”.

"I’d be more inclined to take the compliment if it didn’t come on the heels of you  _breaking into my apartment_ , Case. I took away your key for a reason - so you couldn’t get in.”

"In case you hadn’t noticed,  _Ape_ , I roll with ninjas. I don’t need a key.” He waggles his eyebrows until they disappear under his bandanna. “Breakin’ and enterin’, now that’s a class I passed with flyin’ colors.”

"Well, I  _roll_  with ninjas too, and their classes for  _me_  focused more on breaking. Specifically, kneecaps and faces.”

Casey snorts. “Big talk for a science nerd. Get your coat, the bar’s callin’ our names. And I got the first round.”

April grins at him. Casey is a lot of things, but he’s never hard to like. “You say the sweetest things, Case,” she says, and doesn’t complain when he ruffles her hair and smudges her eyeliner as he pulls her into a hug.

***

Casey has the tolerance you’d expect of a six-foot-four hockey player who’s both Irish and Scottish, so four beers don’t even get him buzzed, but April is pleasantly squiffy after two and has to lean on Casey as they make their way down the icy sidewalk.

"I meant what I said earlier," he says, easing her around a frozen puddle.

April is too busy trying not to fall on her ass - and thank God for whatever spark of genius made her decide to wear flat boots and tights under her dress, instead of heels - to understand what Casey says at first. Then she blinks muzzily at him, frowning.

"You said a lot of things earlier. Which one are you talking about?"

"You do look hot. Nice. You look real nice."

April stops short and pulls her arm out of Casey’s. She feels cold, and it has nothing to do with the weather. “Case, not this again,” she says. “I thought we were done with this, a long time ago. Like,  _years ago_.”

"Hey, what now? You think I’m -? Whoa, Red,  _no.”_ He holds up his hands. April watches him warily, squinting. “I just mean you look nice, is all. Any reason?”

"It’s New Year’s," she says, full of lofty suspicion. "Do I need a reason to look nice? Other than for myself?"

"Nope," says Casey. "Just wonderin’ if you  _had_  a reason. Usually it’s just jeans and t-shirts for you. And that color - it’s not exactly yellow, is it?”

April looks down at herself. Under her brown peacoat, she’s wearing a wrap dress, all shades of violet and deep plum, with a subtle gold thread running through the fabric. It’s not exactly fancy, but Casey’s right. Usually it  _is_  jeans and t-shirts for her - the better to run from evil robots in, you see.

The color she has no excuse for, other than some tiny inner voice telling her she needed something that wasn’t yellow in her closet. Nothing more.

"Well," she says a moment later, "I felt like changing it up."

Casey stares at her, obviously considering his next reply, then sighs something that sounds distinctly like “ _denial_ " before holding out his hand to her again. She takes it with a frown, because she’s not in denial. Not one bit. About anything.

She’s not even in denial about being in denial.

***

“ _Happy New Year, guys!_ " yells Mikey’s voice from under a pile of balloons.

"You’re a little early, dude," laughs Casey as he shoves a path clear for April. "Like, two hours early."

"Whatever! It’s not every year we get to -"

"Sit around and drink cheap beer and watch you play video games?" April finishes for him. "Because yes, that  _is_ every year.”

Mikey’s aggrieved face peers out at her from the balloons. “It’s a good tradition.” He pouts.

April punches his arm, gratified when he yelps and tumbles out of the balloons. “I’m not complaining, dork. I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

Mikey beams at her. “We’re the best party in town. You should see the playlist I’ve got for our dance party! And we’ve got  _guests_  this year! Other than you two!”

"Oh yeah? Who?"

"Leatherhead!"

April freezes halfway through taking off her coat. “Oh my God, Mikey, is that  _safe?”_

Raph snickers from his seat on the couch. “For everything except Donnie’s face, it is.”

April slaps her hand over her mouth a second too late to cover her laugh, choosing to glare at Raph to make up for it. He winks at her, the smug bastard, and takes the beer Casey holds out to him.

"Irma said she’d come too, but only after midnight, but she’s gonna bring her girlfriend, and Radical promised _Sensei_  she’d come, so you know it’s happening. It’s gonna be a real party!”

April gives Mikey a quick, one-armed hug. “It always is, Mikey, when you’re around. Is there food?”

"There’s -"

”- pizza. Of course there is.” She glances around the room. “Where’s Donnie?” she asks.

Mikey glances at Leo, who glances at Raph, who stares at the TV much more intently than it deserves. “Lab,” says Mikey. He ducks out from under April’s arm and heads for the kitchen. “Gotta get some pizza for Leatherhead!”

Being bemused twice in one evening is not something April is used to, so she chooses to ignore it and heads for the lab, snagging a six-pack on her way.

***

Donnie has his back to her when she comes in, bent over some soldering project at his workbench. She knows, without having to look, that he’s got his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth.

She shuts the door, silently debating the merits of trying to surprise him, and decides against it. Getting punched in the face isn’t on her to-do list for the evening.

"Hey, you," she calls.

Donnie ignores her. More precisely, Donnie doesn’t hear her, because at this moment, in the middle of a project, Donnie has no idea that April O’Neil exists. Donnie’s world consists of his project and his two hands.

She’s never met anyone else with the level of concentration that the brothers possess, each in their own way. No one else can be as still as them, or as focused. It’s a heady thing to watch, even in the middle of battle. In the lab, where the only sound is the roar of the welder, it’s potent, almost intoxicating. The thought of interrupting it with beer and laughter makes her cringe, but she gives herself a few more seconds to watch Donnie as he works.

***

April doesn’t dwell on the first year she knew the turtles. It’s a blur in her memory: nights crying until she fell asleep, stumbling through school, trying to keep her head above water. She felt powerless and lost, and hunted too. Everyone wanted something from her, even if it was just her death. Splinter’s lessons gave her some of her power back, but it took until she graduated high school to feel in control again.

She knows she’s strong. She isn’t afraid anymore. If a fight comes to her, she can handle it - and she knows who she can ask for help if she needs it.

Love’s power was one of Splinter’s first lessons. Love made her fierce, and love made her brave.

She knows now it wasn’t just who and what she loved that made her strong. It was who loved her back, too.

***

April shifts quietly and smooths her dress. The gold thread catches the light from Donnie’s desk, a low gleam against the soft shades of purple.

_Purple._

She’s standing in her best friend’s lab, staring at the curve of his shoulders, wearing a purple dress. Call it violet, call it plum, it’s  _purple_ , and the air gusts out of her in a noisy whoosh.

_Oh my God. Donnie._

"April?" Donnie pushes his goggles onto his forehead and beams at her. "I didn’t hear you come in."

"I -" He looks so goddamn happy to see her that she can’t say a single thing. "I brought beer," she says in a strangled, reedy voice she barely recognizes.

"Oh, awesome, thanks! I just finished up here, come on over and take a look."

She makes it across the lab without stumbling, and swings onto the bench next to him. Donnie’s already talking at ninety miles an hour, explaining how he’s so close to the plasma nunchuks Mikey’s  _still_  begging for, just a few more tweaks and he’ll have it -

 _People are at their best when they’re talking about what they love. You’ll never see them look more beautiful,_  says the voice of her mother. April swallows hard, and tries not to stare when Donnie meets her gaze. He’s grinning fit to split his face, so eager to show off for her, so pleased with himself. It would be the easiest thing to close the distance between them, and find out what Donnie looks like when she kisses him.

She doesn’t. She lets him keep talking while her blush slips down her cheeks and down her neck, and it’s only because he’s so focused on his project that he doesn’t notice.

Donnie’s crush on her back in the day was the worst-kept secret in the world, and she wasn’t exactly kind about it. But that was ten years ago, when neither of them knew what the hell was going on from one minute to the next, and some new disaster was always looming over their heads.

He hasn’t called her  _my sweet princess_  in years, and that awful picture of her isn’t his desktop anymore.

 _Of course now would be when I figure it out._ She clenches her fists and nods along with what Donnie’s saying.  _When it’s too late._

What if it’s not?

Sometimes she catches him watching her - when she trains, when she’s studying - and he always looks away and starts talking too loudly. Maybe, just maybe - but she has to be sure, because Donnie deserves that certainty. Unless it’s real, straight through, she won’t say a word.

"I know it’s early," Donnie says, reaching for a beer, "but I think we deserve a toast. You in?" He holds out a beer to her, his grin sly and proud, and April’s heart skids through its next few beats. She takes the beer, her own grin spreading across her face.

"What’s the toast?" she asks, and pops the tab.

Donnie huffs. “To knowledge,” he replies, the same toast they’ve always used, just the two of them. His eyes go wide as he really sees her.

As he really sees  _her dress_ , April muses, fighting the urge to duck her head.

"Wow, you look  _amazing_  - I mean, you always look  _good_ , I’m not saying you don’t, but tonight you really just look…beautiful.” He flushes too, and April thinks  _oh goddammit,_ because it’s that easy to be sure. Of herself, of him.

She taps her can against his. “To knowledge,” she says, and when he meets her gaze again, it’s full of gratitude that she isn’t sure she deserves.

Yet.

***

Irma and Rachel, her girlfriend, arrive a half hour before the ball drops, and Mikey uses this as an excuse to yell “ _Dance party!”_ and drag everyone into the main room. Even Radical’s wearing a smile by the time “1999” starts playing, though she steadfastly refuses to dance.

April’s seven beers and counting in when Mikey starts alternating dance songs with karaoke, and it only takes one shot of tequila and a little prodding from Raph and Casey to get her to sing. She can’t carry a tune to save her life, and she mumbles her way through “Summer Lovin’” with Leo, thankful that everyone else looks even more drunk than her.

Donnie clears a space for her on the couch when she’s done, and she collapses next to him, flushed and sweaty. “I can’t believe you let them talk you into that,” he says, and he’s actually  _sniggering_ , so hard he can barely talk. “That was an embarrassment to karaoke everywhere, April.”

"Shuddup," she slurs, and shoves him. He tumbles over, still sniggering, all squinty and loose-limbed, and she wants to crawl on top of him and bite his neck until he stops laughing.

_Whoa, cowgirl. Slow down._

Irma wanders by, and she’s somehow acquired jello shots. Donnie takes three, knocking them back between bursts of laughter, but April’s last sober instinct is self-preservation, so she refuses. Across the room, Leatherhead is talking to Rachel and Casey about the subway system with the calm, deliberate focus that means he’s totally tanked, and Mikey is arguing over the music with Raph. Everyone’s there, and everyone’s happy, except -

"Where’s Splinter?" she asks the room at large. Donnie tries to replies but starts laughing too hard to speak, so it’s Mikey who answers.

"Went to bed!" he shouts. "Said we should try not to get in trouble!"

April looks around the lair, which is covered with empty pizza boxes and beer bottles, and at Irma, who’s convinced Leo and Radical to take shots, and the road to hell is truly paved with good intentions.

Donnie manages to get control of himself long enough to sit up, and sprawls across the couch, his arm behind her. He’s giving her a serious look, his patented I Am About To Deliver News Of Great Importance look, so April leans in and holds her breath.

"You look  _beautiful,_ " he says, almost frowning in concentration as he gets the words out. "Purple’s your color, even though green would look good on you too." He squawks a half-second later and throws himself away. "Not what I meant, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!"

April lets out her breath on a laugh as her mind tries to follow  _that_ mental image to its conclusion. “It’s fine,” she giggles. “We’re drunk!” Universal code for  _say what you want, neither of us is going to remember this come morning._

She’s going to remember, though. She  _wants_  to remember.

Donnie visibly relaxes, but doesn’t move any closer. Sweet, nervous Donnie. Forget biting his neck, she just wants to touch him, pin him down until he stops worrying.

Mikey wins the argument over the music, and a woman starts to sing.

"Come on, genius," April yells, as the song starts to build. It’s been playing everywhere the past few weeks, and she can never remember the name or who sings it, but she knows it’s about to turn into the perfect dance song. "Let’s go!" She grabs Donnie’s arm and pulls him off the couch with a grunt. He plants his feet, refusing to move.

"Uh, April, I don’t dance."

"I don’t sing," she says, feeling wicked and drunk. "But I did it! Come on!"

He gives in and lets her tug him into the center of the room, where everyone has clustered, even Leo and Radical, with Leatherhead’s shadow looming over them all.

April has a vague idea that they’ve missed the ball drop, but the thought disappears when the song crashes into the chorus, and the lights go off in the lair. Donnie jolts, glancing around, but Mikey flicks on a disco ball and beams at them in the broken light.

Of course Mikey has a disco ball.

April lets go of Donnie’s arm and starts to dance. She’s not graceful, nowhere close, and her hair is falling out of its careful pins, but she doesn’t care.

The song’s lyrics are almost too on-the-nose, but it’s got a good beat, and Donnie’s dancing with her, actually  _dancing_. He’s so serious, like he can’t bear the thought of a single misstep, all precise movements and unblinking eyes. He loosens up as they move, until he’s as unself-conscious as Mikey.

Flickers of light flash over his face, and her grin widens every time she catches a glimpse of his eyes. It’s poetic and sentimental and sappy, and she can’t resist it, not one bit.

She’ll worry about symbolism later, when she’s sober. When she’s not focused on how badly she wants to kiss her best friend.

***

Someone - and April’s money is on Splinter - covered her with a blanket after she collapsed on the couch, so she wakes up warm, if hungover and a little stiff-backed. Mikey’s still snoring a few feet away, curled into Leatherhead’s side. Casey and Raph are playing Mario Kart, and judging by their bloodshot eyes and the mugs of coffee scattered around them, they have been for a while.

"Where’s everyone else?" she says, wincing as she rolls over.

Without looking away from the TV, Raph jerks his head over his shoulder. “Leo and Radical are doing that creepy tantric meditation -“

"They’re fuckin’," interjects Casey.

”- Splinter went for a walk, Irma and Rachel left already, and Donnie’s in his lab.” Raph glances at April. “There’s coffee in the kitchen. Leftover pizza too.”

"Advil’s in the lab," says Casey, and shares a Look with Raph. April can’t decide which of them she hates more, but she decides to leave without saying another word.

The kitchen is neat - again, her money is on Splinter - and she pours two mugs of coffee, balancing them on a box of pizza as she makes her way to the lab.

Donnie’s wide awake, without a single hint that he’s hungover, typing at light speed as a mass of code flows over his monitors.

"Morning," she says. "I come bearing sustenance."

"If it’s anything other than coffee -" He inhales deeply, and turns around with a grin. "Oh, you’re an angel." The grin slips away to crash on the floor. "Uh, thanks."

"You’re welcome," she says, and takes her seat on the bench. Now it’s time for truth: if last night was an anomaly, some giddy fantasy, it won’t hold up in the light of reality.

Donnie shifts over and takes the box away from her, setting it on the desk. “I’ve, uh, got napkins somewhere,” he mumbles, and digs in a drawer. “Here.”

"Thanks." They eat and drink silently, and Donnie avoids her gaze. She lets him be, content just to sit and wake up in stages.

"I didn’t say anything weird last night, did I?" he asks, his voice muffled by his coffee mug. "I was pretty drunk."

"You were," April answers carefully. "But I wasn’t."

Donnie freezes for an instant, then finishes his sip. “Oh.”

"You were fine, Donnie. A little giggly, and you did jello shots with Irma, but you were fine."

"Oh," Donnie says again. "Good." He sets his mug aside, his posture melting out of its hard lines. He brushes his fingers over hers, a tentative little gesture that seems to surprise him as much as it does her. "I think I missed it last night, but Happy New Year, April."

It’s not what he says, but how he says it, that makes her pulse beat hard in her wrists, and for the third time, April has to stop herself before she kisses him. She looks down at her hands, at her wrinkled dress, anything but his face.

"Happy New Year, Donnie," she says.

***

Casey walks her home. They stop for breakfast sandwiches at a bodega a block away from the lair, and eat as they walk.

"Good night," Casey says, with his mouth full. He gives her a sidelong look that she ignores, focusing instead on her sandwich.

"What did Donnie think of your dress?"

She glares at Casey, but he just laughs and nudges her.

"Don’t be mad, Red. Can’t be in denial all your life."

"Shut up."

"It’s cute, really, how hard you tried to hide it, but -"

"Casey, I said  _shut up._ ”

"Aw," he says, genuinely disappointed, but he knows that tone of her voice and he lets it go. They finish eating before he starts again.

"So. You gonna say anything? Poor guy’s been waitin’, like, forever."

She sighs and rubs her hands together. It’s a chilly morning, the kind of damp cold that sinks in and stays with you all day. Perfect for sitting on the couch and watching Battlestar Galactica until she falls asleep.

"I don’t know," she says. "Not yet. It may have been obvious to you, but I didn’t figure it out till last night. I’ve got a lot to think about."

"You science nerds," groans Casey. "You’re never gonna get anywhere if you just overthink shit."

"I want to be sure," she fires back, digging her keys out of her pocket. "It’ll ruin everything if I’m not. Besides," she says, through a suddenly pinched throat, "he might not still -"

"Come on, you know better." Casey rolls his eyes. "And you’re sure, I know you are."

Sometimes April forgets Casey knows her just as well as the brothers, even better in some ways, but hearing his confidence makes her smile. She tries to hide it behind her hair, but Casey’s crowing tells her she’s failed.

"I knew it! You totally wanna do the Don! Ha!" He punches her arm and she punches him back, twice as hard. Casey dances away, wincing and laughing.

"It’s not like that," she hisses, wishing Casey had an inside voice. People are staring at them, the cackling, gap-toothed guy in the biker jacket and the woman with her makeup smeared and her hair in a messy braid. "It’s not  _just_  that,” she amends, flushing.

Casey gives her a sly wink. “Course it ain’t. True love and all that jazz. What’re you gonna do about it?”

That is the question, isn’t it? April licks her lips, thinking of Donnie down in his lab, eyes intent on hers.

"I’m going to form a hypothesis," she says, "and then I’m going to test it."

Casey barks out another laugh. “You  _nerd_ ,” he yells. “Just kiss the guy, he’ll be into it!”

April opens the door to her building. “He’ll want to know I used the scientific method,” she says, a sweet burst of hope building in her. “But I’ll be sure to let you know the results.”

Casey waves her words away. “You won’t have to,” he says. “It’s Donnie. When it finally happens, he’s gonna explode. The whole  _city’s_ gonna know.”

She ignores him, already pulling out her phone as she slips inside. There’s so much to do, so much to plan, so many theories to test.

First things first. She hits speed dial as she runs up the stairs, not even surprised when he answers after the first ring.

"Hey, Donnie? Yeah, no, everything’s fine. You want to come over later? Movie night." She grins into her phone. "Just us."


End file.
